19. Abu Shukri vs. Abu Rafik

19. Abu Shukri vs. Abu Rafik

50 years ago, we were divided into two camps. I belonged to the Abu Shukri camp, the best hummus on the planet, on HaGuy street in the Old City. Not, of course, God forbid, 'The Real Abu Shukri', 'The Original Abu Shukri', or 'The world-famous Abu Shukri', hummus places that popped up like mushrooms after the rain in Abu Gosh and other villages. The other camp was called the Abu Rafik camp and was led by my good friend Arbinka (David Or). Abu Rafik was also located in the Old City, in the Butchers market. The Abu Rafik fans frequented his place and swore it was the best hummus in the world. But we knew that we were talking about a bunch of cheapskates who chose Abu Rafik only because he gave them a pitcher of tap water for free as opposed to Abu Shukri, who made those sitting in his place purchase with their hard-earned cash a bottle of Pepsi Cola, made in Jordan. Not that they stood any chance in this contest. Every kid knows that good hummus can only be

found in a place that focuses all its energy on hummus and hummus alone. Abu Shukri was certainly like that but Abu Rafik didn't focus only on hummus and offered a special dish of "stuffed chicken filled with rice and tomato paste". Between you and me, how can someone like that be the king of hummus? Abu Rafik was located in a basement. You went down several steps into an arched ceiling covered in red stains. Sawdust was scattered around on the ground, and there was always weird background noises that accompanied you on the walk to the table … There was only one good point in favor of the Abu Rafik camp. while Abu Shukri served mostly Israelis and tourists, Abu Rafik served loyally also the Palestinians who worked in the market. By the stairs on the right, stood a huge pot in which stuffed chickens were placed. The restaurant guests would come up to the pot and pull out one of the chickens in the pot with their own hands.

Every stuffed chicken was sewn in a string of a jute sack. After sitting on their chairs, the guests sank their teeth in the jute string and tugged at the chicken in vigorous hand movements. This move had 3 outcomes: the jute string remained in their mouth, the stuffed chicken remained between the palms of their hands and the arched ceiling became filled with stains of tomato paste that sprayed everywhere. The restaurant guests used to eat the chicken until the last drop of meat, and when the task was completed, they passed the palm of their hand along the entire length of the table from one end to the other and tossed all the bones to the restaurant floor. That was, therefore, the meaning of the strange noises on the restaurant floor: the chicken bones being smashed to smithereens by the shoes of the restaurant guests… Abu Rafik restaurant changed its face over time. The entire ceiling became red and slowly came closer to the diners' heads.

The floor was again and again covered in sawdust and rose higher. Rumor has it that Rafik, Abu Rafik's son, called the fire department one day so they would help him out of the restaurant that kept shrinking and shrinking until the entrance became too small for him to pass through. Last night I met Arbinka. "Are you coming with me to Abu Rafik?" he asked " You know deep down inside that there's nothing like their hummus. The best in the world. Abu Shukri is a joke for tourists." "Your wish is my command," I said.